To Bagan

Okay , that was one thing I definitely wouldn´t have made without the driver , who also had his moments of doubts. The bus station is a fair way away from the Sule pagoda area where I stay , and ends in a maze of muddy lanes with buses. I have the very last ticket , or so I thought for a moment until the plastic kiddy chairs are distributed in the mid aisle. During the first half hour of waiting we are served with edifying videos of heavily gilded boats being rowed by Very Serious men , religious processions etc , as soon as the bus starts the rhytm changes : burmese pop and a series of videos of he coming generation in Myanmar. He is stupid/sullen/jealous ( the later obviously with some reason at times ) , she is sulking or cruel.Her hair is always shampoo commercial material ( that does not seem far from reality , actually ) . In the end they start being nice to each other. The jeans/longyi ratio is beyond irrational : all boys on the screen wear jeans , in the bus I´m the only one in the last three or four rows who wears pants. I´m also the only foreigner. Arrive in the wee hours at the dropping point for Bagan. Stretch out at last in the horse cart , which weaves on and off the road in the darkness. Sandy trails , a bitter/lemonish smell and a few lit up pagodas on the way. Lots of bigger stuff sensed , not seen. Then the horizon becomes visible , giving ...aaah. ( photos to come )